


love that's in my veins

by writergirl8



Series: Stydia-fanfiction prompts [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, here’s the thing. The thing that Lydia will admit to approximately one person, and that is herself, but barely— She’s been having dreams about Stiles since she kissed him. </p><p>---</p><p>(Prompt: Lydia has a sex dream about Stiles. The pack finds out. Teasing ensues.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	love that's in my veins

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt from Stydia-fanfiction! I hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> I cried while writing the sex scene, don't you dare judge me. 
> 
> And yes, the title is from Sledgehammer by Fifth Harmony. Shut up.

Okay, here’s the thing. The thing that Lydia will admit to approximately one person, and that is herself, but  _ barely _ — She’s been having dreams about Stiles since she kissed him. 

 

Mostly they had been sex dreams at first, because as ashamed as she was at the time to be dreaming sexually about the guy who’d had a crush on her since she was eight-years-old, there had been something about Stiles that had snagged her and had never let her go. She would dream of his mouth, of his tongue inside of her as she arched above him. She’d dream about his happy trail; about being in a classroom and waiting until they were alone, then unbuttoning his pants so that she could find out  _ exactly  _ what that trail lead to. And as impatient as she is, there had been a recurring theme of Lydia as a teacher and Stiles as her virginal but ever so eager-to-please student. 

 

The reality of them is so vastly different that Lydia nearly feels embarrassed at her childish sixteen-year-old idea of what her relationship with Stiles was supposed to be. They’re eighteen and her dreams about Stiles have long since begun to reflect the reality of what they have. The dreams have turned into talking on the phone until 3am from two separate bedrooms across town, neither of them willing to hang up. They have turned into watching movies, their bodies sprawled out across Stiles’ bed, both of them trying too hard to focus on the movie instead of each other. They have become coffee in the morning and lightly entwined fingers during lunch and making out in the back of the jeep during the sixth period study hall that’s just the two of them. 

 

They had gotten together with so much effort, so much difficulty, that by the time Lydia had actually ended up in a relationship with Stiles, she had been a completely different person, and so had he. Her dreams about him had shifted to reflect that. Sometimes she thinks that they’re lucky, because as much as they’d grown, they had only grown together. They hadn’t changed enough that they didn’t fit anymore. They  _ work.  _ Being a couple with him has felt right and easy and exhilarating, and a part of her has been glowing ever since it’s happened. And her dreams have become soft and sweet; a well worn blanket pressed against her cheek. 

 

And then… last night. Last night had reminded her rather forcefully of junior year, when she was just discovering how long and sinewy Stiles’ fingers were. The only difference is that now she could have them inside of her, if she wanted to. Last night, as he’d fucked into her in her dream, she had been able to bask in the startling accuracy of the way he was kissing her, and the feeling of his hand stroking her hair, just hard enough that it’s urgent instead of gentle, but still tender because he always is with her. 

 

Her purple sheets are soaked with sweat as she gets herself off, fingers not nearly long enough to satisfy. It’s too quick, leaving her desperate for more, so she gets herself off again in the shower, praising a God she doesn’t believe in for giving her a detachable showerhead. The careful outfit, hair, and makeup don’t help to make her feel less off-kilter. Instead, she closes the front door to her house, sees the jeep sliding into her driveway, and almost considers leaving her panties at home, for all the help they’ll be. 

 

Except Stiles is completely oblivious as he grins at her and hands her the coffee that he’d made for her, and when he doesn’t kiss her long enough, she’s even more tightly wound than she was before. She folds her arms and crosses her legs and sits there with her lips pursed, trying not to think about how incredibly good he smells and how she has a flannel hanging over her desk chair that smells just like him and she  _ may  _ have considered standing up to put it on in the early moments of this morning. 

 

“God, you are  _ not  _ a morning person,” Stiles teases, noting the scowl on her face at a stop light. “You’re looking at the windshield like coach looks at Greenberg on his birthday.”

 

“Whose birthday? Coach or Greenberg?” Lydia asks. Stiles spares her an amused frown, his lips tugged upwards. “What? Your syntax was confusing.” 

 

He laughs a little. Places a soothing hand on her knee, which honestly just makes it worse as he absently strokes his fingers on her bare skin as they pull into the parking lot. When he slides his hand off of her thigh so that he can shift gears into park, Lydia honestly begins to consider different ways to phrase the sentence “I would like you to fuck me, please” in a way that reserves some dignity. She huffs, leaping down from the passenger’s seat as soon as she unbuckles her seatbelt. By the time she’s out, and has finished smoothing down her skirt, Stiles is already around the car. He blocks her in with his hips, then presses a gentle kiss against her forehead, his hand cupping the back of her head. 

 

“Have a good day, Oscar,” he murmurs, lips pressing against her skin. 

 

“Oscar?” questions Lydia, frowning. 

 

Stiles smirks. 

 

“Oscar the Grouch.” She glares at him. He takes this as permission to make it worse. “You know. Green. Fuzzy. Lives in a trash can.” Stiles winks. “Obviously  _ I  _ am the trash can in this scenario.” 

 

“I am  _ not  _ a muppet,” refutes Lydia, perfectly aware of the fact that she’s being irrational, but he’d licked his bottom lip while he smiled and there’s no fucking way she’s going to let him get away with that type of brazen behavior. 

 

She grabs his hand and power-walks into the school, coffee in the other hand as her heels hit rhythmically against the pavement. Stiles offers her a bemused smile, not upset by her annoyance at all— probably because they’d watched a movie on the phone together last night and he knows  _ exactly  _ how much she has to like him if she’s going to sit all the way through Back to The Future. 

 

“Hey,” Scott says cheerfully, pulling in next to Stiles as they walk across the parking lot. “What’s up with Lydia?”

 

“She woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Stiles shrugs. She pictures him in his bed, just waking up, eyes blinking slowly and sleepily as they are assaulted by the golden morning sunlight. 

 

Then she takes a breath and tries to distract herself by asking an approaching Liam if he did his econ homework. 

 

“Uh,” he says. “Yes?”

 

Lydia raises an eyebrow. 

 

“Is that a question? Did you or didn’t you do your econ homework?”

 

“Well—”    
  
“Do it during ten minute break,” she instructs. 

 

He swallows. Nods. Holds the door to the school open so that Lydia can sweep past him and stride down the hallway. 

 

“Okay,” he agrees, then spies Mason down the hallway and takes off towards his best friend. 

 

Lydia heads to her locker, and Stiles and Scott follow dutifully behind her like two puppies that she hadn’t actually meant to adopt. 

 

“What’s that smell?” comes Hayden’s voice from behind Lydia, confused. “Do you smell that?” 

  
She’s addressing Scott, but Stiles still deeply sniffs at the air, as if he thinks that he could pick up what the wolves can. Scott smiles fondly at him before he draws in a deep breath, taking in the air around them. When he catches the scent that Hayden is referring to, he blinks rapidly, and  _ hard _ , shaking his head as though attempting to fling the scent from it 

 

“You smell it too?” Stiles asks, frowning. 

 

“Well?” prompts Hayden. “What is it?”   
  
Scott clears his throat. 

 

“Um… Passion. Lust.” He pauses. “Arousal.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles says emotionlessly. “That’s probably me.”    
  
Lydia  _ almost  _ cracks a smile when his eyes dart to her to see if she thinks it’s funny. But it’s not funny at all because she’s frustrated and he smells so fucking good and she’s honestly contemplating skipping class and dragging him into a closet with her. 

 

Except they don’t do that— it’s been such a short time since they got together, and they’ve just been making out so far, haven’t even gotten off together yet. As much as it’s driving her crazy, she also wants things to progress naturally. She doesn’t want to fuck up what they have with  _ sex _ if it’s going so well already. And despite the fact that he’s her boyfriend, she doesn’t feel like she’s allowed to drag him back out to his jeep and have her wicked way with him. Not yet, at least.  

 

“No, it’s not Stiles,” Hayden says, shaking her head as she thinks out loud. “It’s—”    
  
“Your outfit,” Lydia says, whirling around and slamming her locker door shut. “Is that the same thing you wore yesterday, or do you just lack creativity when it comes to the simple act of dressing yourself?”

 

Stiles’ eyes widen as he struggles between surprise at how catty she’s being and enjoying her short temper, the words meant to wound. It’s the old her, for a few seconds. The one he fell in love with at first, and while she’s still there, she’s not always so prominent. Lydia doesn’t wait to see Hayden’s reaction, just walks away from the group and stalks off towards her first class 

 

She manages to avoid most pack members until lunch time. At one point, Scott comes up to her and tries to ask her about the research she was doing in the bestiary the night before, but she quickly makes an excuse because she  _ knows  _ he can smell how turned on she is, and honestly, she doesn’t want to deal with it. 

 

Also, she doesn’t think she’ll ever get over the shame. 

 

Lydia Martin does not like being teased. And the fact that Stiles is teasing her just by existing? So not fair. It’s not fair that he gets to  _ do  _ that to her, and that Scott gets to know about it. She’s more than a little ashamed, especially because Stiles stretches in English class and his shirt pulls up over his happy trail and she literally breaks a pencil.

 

By the time she gets to lunch, she’s somehow grumpier than before as she takes her seat next to the one empty chair left at the table. 

 

“Ugh,” Malia says, looking over at Lydia. “Can you not do that here?”

 

“Do  _ what _ ?” she snaps, holding a fork too tightly, but Scott coughs loudly and leans forward to Malia. 

 

“Hey, how did your math test go?”   
  
She begins blabbing on about that, and Lydia focuses on picking the label off of her water bottle, tearing it into tiny little pieces. 

 

“Hi,” says a low voice. Stiles slides into the seat next to her, his arm discreetly sliding around her waist so that he can squeeze her side comfortingly with his hand before he pulls it back and reaches into his backpack, tugging something out and tossing it towards her. “I got you this brownie to cheer you up. And you better eat it, because I spent a whole seventy-five cents on it.” 

 

Lydia nudges it back towards him, oddly touched that he’d spent seventy-five cents on a brownie because he was thinking of her. 

 

“It’s your brownie. You should eat it.”   
  
He shrugs indifferently.    
  


“Nah. I don’t need dessert anymore. You’re my sugar.” Lydia narrows her eyes at him, drawing back slightly, and he breaks the serious facade, laughing. “No, totally kidding.” He grabs a second brownie from his bag. “I got my own, though.” 

 

She’s in the middle of smiling at him for several moments too long when Liam comes up behind her and sniffs very obviously. 

 

“Okay, you were right, Hayden,” he says, going back down the table. 

 

“About what?” Stiles asks. “What exactly made you feel like it wasn’t weird to smell my girlfriend like that?”   
  
“She’s rank,” shrugs Liam. “Plus, you sniff her all the time.” 

 

“It’s just perfume.”    
  
“Dude, no. It’s her chemosignals.”    
  
Malia pokes at her sloppy joe with her fork.

 

“It’s the chemosignals. It’s probably because—”  

 

At this moment, Stiles inadvertently creates a diversion by taking a bite of his brownie and beginning to cough dramatically and loudly while everybody stares at him. 

 

“Ugh, it has  _ nuts _ ,” he says furiously, before downing his whole water bottle in one gulp. “Fuck, ew, ugh.”    
  
“What’s wrong with that?” Scott asks, at the same time Lydia says “But you love nuts!”     
  
Stiles whirls around to glare at both of them, then pushes up from the table and storms off towards the snack stand, presumably to bitch out a lunch lady. Lydia glances after him for a moment, wondering if she should stop him, and then shrugs and turns back to her salad, grabbing a piece with lots of dressing on it and shoving it into her mouth. 

 

“So does arousal smell different on everybody?” Hayden asks conversationally. 

 

“Oh for the love of—” Lydia groans, but Malia cuts her off. 

 

“Yeah, it’s one of the more individual chemosignals, right.” 

  
“Right!” Scott says brightly, looking proud of her. 

 

“But Lydia’s are weirdly strong,” Liam tells her. “Ha, it reminds me of the time Corey had a sex dream about Mason and—” He trails off, looking at the way Lydia’s eyes have widened in alarm. 

 

“Oh my god,” Mason says, pointing at Lydia from across the table. “That’s totally what happened!” 

  
“No,” Lydia says brusquely, hoping to nip it in the bud. “It did  _ not  _ happen, I don’t know what any of you are talking about, I’m sure I smell absolutely normal this morning, and—”    
  
“You know we can hear your heartbeat, right?” Malia points out. “We can tell when you’re lying.” 

 

“Guys—” Scott begins, but Corey cuts him off. 

 

“So what was the dream about?” he asks, teasing. Lydia turns around and glares at him so fast that he shrinks back. 

 

“Don’t let her scare you,” Hayden says dismissively, clearly still annoyed about the shirt comment. “She’s probably more pissed at herself than she is at you. I mean, Stiles? Really?”

 

Even Scott looks mildly offended at that one. Lydia bristles, her eyes shooting daggers at Hayden, because she doesn’t  _ know _ , she has no idea, and—  

 

“Everybody just... lay off of Lydia,” Scott says gently. “Seriously. Please.”    
  
“Lay off of Lydia about what?” Stiles asks, once more plopping down next to her with a coke and a new brownie. He unscrews the cap, looking around at the table, at all of the silent pack members. When nobody answers, he frowns and takes a sip of his soda, eyes sliding over to Scott. 

 

Malia’s the one, in the end, who takes pity on him.

 

“Lydia had a sex dream about you last night,” she says bluntly. “So everybody’s making fun of her.” Stiles spits out his drink in Scott’s face. Malia wrinkles her nose at her sloppy joe. “Has anybody ever tried to put this sauce on deer?”

 

“Dude!” complains Scott, but Stiles just gapes at the rest of the pack. 

  
“Lydia had a sex dream about me?”

 

They all nod together, varying degrees of amusement on their faces. 

 

“Ugh,  _ look _ ,” Lydia interjects finally. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s the first one.” 

 

Stiles makes a high pitched, squeaky noise in the back of his throat. She realizes her mistake at once, but it’s too late, because he’s already staring at the ceiling, his lips moving silently as though he’s praying. 

 

“Why are you so surprised, dude?” Mason asks, looking slightly concerned. “She’s dating you. It never occurred to you that she’d—”    
  
“Don’t even say it,” Scott warns. “He’s going to be insufferable as soon as it hits.” 

 

“As soon as what hits?” Hayden probes, sounding annoyed. “It’s not like it could be surprising that he turns Lydia on.” 

 

Stiles is still looking at the ceiling, his nostrils flaring slightly.    
  
“Yeah, today isn’t the first time she’s smelled like that,” Liam comments musingly. “She smelled like that a lot on that night when we all played laser tag last summer and Stiles was doing those stupid dance moves in the vest and those sunglasses.”    
  
Lydia, for her part, feels like she’s watching the entire traffic accident unfold and isn’t entirely sure what to do about it. On one hand, these idiots are her best friends and she can’t very easily murder them without feeling some sort of regret. On the other hand, this is positively  _ ridiculous _ . She should not be made to sit here and listen to them talk about her sex life, or lackthereof. 

 

Next to her, Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, his fist clenching around the bottle, crunching it loudly, and everybody stares at him. 

 

“Enough,” Lydia finally says, voice steely. “I’m going home, and when I come into school tomorrow, if I hear one  _ peep _ of this, I’m going to use instagram to post each of the humiliating photographs I have of all of you.”    
  
Liam scoffs. 

  
“You have nothing on me.”    
  
Lydia’s eyes go hard. 

 

“The snapchat with the taco, the teddy bear, and the hammer.”   
  
“Yeah, checkmate,” he says, backing down. 

 

With that, she stands up and leaves the table, trying to add a little extra bounce into her steps as she hurries away from them. 

 

And, for the record, in that moment she is feeling absolutely nothing that resembles turned on or sexually frustrated.

 

Mostly.

 

~*~

 

Home is blessedly empty, which usually feels like a bad thing, but today it’s good. Over the past several months, Lydia’s spent so much time at Stiles’ house that her own place has felt isolated and sterile in comparison. The Stilinski house, with its darkly colored walls and the old furniture left over from Claudia’s decoration taste, feels so lived in. It has easily become another home to her— mostly because Stiles has too. 

 

She hates being home, where everything is quiet and a little too stylish, a little not lived-in enough. But as she drops her keys onto the table by the door, Lydia takes a moment to breathe in the quiet, ignoring the pounding in her head. Then she kicks her shoes into the closet, rushes upstairs, and collapses in her bed, taking in the familiar scent of her flowery detergent as she gathers her pillow into her arms and squeezes it tight. 

 

The dream had been so overwhelming that she still feels tired from it, but she knows she’s too agitated to fall asleep, so instead she snatches up one of the books that she’s been reading and tries to plunge into it. She manages to become interested enough in the plot to distract herself, so when the doorbell rings an hour later, Lydia is startled to realize that she’s still in the real world. 

 

One look out her window shows her that Stiles’ jeep is parked outside. Her heart thumps a bit more quickly in her chest as she wonders why he’d left school to come find her. Lydia tiptoes down the stairs and gives herself two beats to catch her breath before she tugs the door open. 

 

He must see on her face that she is feeling for more relaxed than she had been earlier, because he smiles almost as soon as she opens the door. 

 

“You forgot your brownie,” he says, holding out a hand, offering it to her. Lydia laughs a little, taking it from him, her eyes not leaving his face. “So.”    
  
She leans her head on the door, watching the way the wind ruffles his hair, feeling warmth curl in her stomach. 

 

“So.”    
  
“You… um… like me.”    
  
“This is a well established fact.”   
  
He rubs the back of his neck. 

  
“Right. But you  _ like  _ me.”    
  
“You realize that you’ve literally had your hand in my bra, right? This isn’t new.”    
  
“I know, I know,” Stiles agrees, nodding emphatically. “But you  _ like  _ me.”    
  
She rolls her eyes, then reaches up to tug his shirt down so that he’ll kiss her. 

 

“Maybe,” whispers Lydia, pulling back. 

 

“Ha,” replies Stiles. “You  _ liiike _ me, you think I’m  _ preeettttyyy,  _ you want to  _ kiiiiiss _ me—”    
  
She shoves him back. 

 

“I deeply regret telling you that Miss Congeniality is one of my favorite movies.”   
  
“Why would you regret that? I, for one, love having a mutual favorite movie.” 

 

She wants to roll her eyes again, but instead she ends up pulling him inside and closing the door behind him, then walking up the stairs to her bedroom with him trailing behind her. 

 

“Is there a reason why you felt the need to bring a brownie all the way over here?” Lydia asks knowingly, once Stiles has closed the door behind the two of them. 

 

“Uh, yeah. You had a sex dream about me.”   
  
“Oh, I know.”    
  
“So I was thinking… since everybody was saying that you were…  _ frustrated… _ today… well, I was thinking that I could help you out with that.” He swallows hard. Nods a little, like he’s forcing himself to go on. “You know. If you’d want that.” 

 

Unbidden, her eyes trail from his face to his hands where they rest at his navel, fingers of his left hand curling and uncurling as he hits it against the palm of his right. Stiles lets out a disbelieving laugh when he sees her bite her lip and tilt her head to the side, getting lost in the sight of his fingers for a moment, before she trails her eyes back up to him and nods silently. 

 

Regardless of the fact that he’d been more than likely to receive a positive answer, Stiles’ body sags in relief as Lydia approaches him, kissing him without wasting any more of their time. She walks them backwards towards her bed, where they spend several moments on familiar territory— Stiles’ hand cupping her breast, the other on her ass, Lydia’s hands tugging at his shirt eagerly, just wanting it off.  

 

She can tell he’s nervous because the way he kisses her is more hesitant than usual— slower. It sizzles instead of burning, and Lydia wants to feel it everywhere  _ faster _ . She hates the agonizing way it luxuriously spreads through her body, because she’s been horny all day and the truth is, she’s wanted Stiles for so much longer than that. It makes her dizzy, knowing how big his hands look on her breasts; as he pulls down the cups of her bra, it makes her  _ dizzier  _ knowing how his calloused thumbs feel on her nipples. 

 

If it feels like this only after two years of friendship and waiting, Lydia can’t imagine how this feels for Stiles. He holds so much love inside of himself, and he gives so much of it to her, and she can see it in the awe in his eyes when she unbuckles her bra and slides it off of her arms, then brings him back up to kiss her, crushing his bare chest against hers. 

 

“Lydia,” he murmurs reverentially. She shakes her head, kissing him harder, and his words get swallowed by her mouth on his. 

 

It’s too easy to get lost in him; in the wet slide of their mouths together, in his tongue stroking against her, in the way his cheeks will shift under her hands as his lips occasionally tilt upwards as though he’s on the verge of a smile. Lydia’s always liked patterns, organization, rhythm. And the way she and Stiles love each other is none and all of those things. 

 

He drives her crazy. But at least it’s him that drives her crazy. And at least she drives him crazy too. 

 

A small amount of fearlessness courses through her body as he breathes his way down her skin, dropping light kisses in random moments until he finally comes to her breasts and touches and squeezes lightly before he puts his mouth onto her. She arches up into him, her brows pulling her skin tight as he looks up at her, just watching her, his eyes curious. 

 

“Stiles,” Lydia says shakily, her voice soft. “I want—”    
  
He blinks. 

 

“Yeah?” he asks tenderly. He slides higher up her body, kissing her briefly on the mouth. “What, Lyds? What do you want?”

 

She squeezes her eyes shut for a second, overwhelmed with the sweetness in his eyes. His hand is resting lightly on her upper thigh, so close to where she wants him to touch her, and Lydia attempts to catch the courage that had just been fluttering in her stomach and press it close to herself. She swallows, then hooks her fingers around the edges of her panties under her skirt and drags them down her legs.

 

For a moment, Stiles keeps his eyes on her. Then he cuts to the scrap of fabric in her hands, lacy and pink and pretty. She sees his eyes darken, looking at her underwear, and she wants to smile at the way his lips part open, staring. It’s easy to roll over and kiss his skin, letting her tongue laze across the small sheen of nervous sweat at his collarbone. Stiles’ entire body goes rigid, the sensation taking him by surprise, as if the moment had been so  _ still  _ for him that he had been surprised anybody else was there with him. But then he looks over at her, a helpless sort of joy on his eyes as he takes her in, and when he slides his hand slowly under her skirt, he doesn’t take his gaze off of her. 

 

Lydia’s legs part without her making the conscious decision to do so. If he were to ask, it would have broken the stillness of the moment, so instead she just lets her body open itself to him; to being in this particular moment with Stiles Stilinski.  

 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he touches her for the first time, drawing in a shaky breath as he slowly slides one finger up from the dip of her entrance to her clit. She holds her breath as he touches it for the first time, in a way that isn’t designed for pleasure, but is meant to be experimental. He’s just learning her body; mapping this new place that he’s never been that is a part of the girl he knows better than he knows himself.

 

Except her breath hitches as his thumb flicks over her gently, and it kick starts something in Stiles; seems to wake him up. He trails his fingers down to her opening again and slowly pushes one inside of her heat, closing his eyes at the feeling of how wet and hot she is. 

 

“Oh god,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. She nudges against him, trying to encourage him to touch her for  _ real _ , but instead he just experimentally slides his finger out of her, too slow, and then shoves it back in, more quickly this time. 

 

It’s long and thick enough that she can appreciate it, but she still whimpers at the need for more, clenching around him desperately. Stiles lets out a little, disbelieving noise before he slides another finger in next to the first one, far too easily because she’s so wet for him. 

 

It’s been so long since Lydia’s had anything inside of her aside from her small fingers, and she finds herself holding back whimpers as Stiles thrusts his fingers slowly in and out of her, just savoring the feeling. She’s desperate not to make noise and embarrass herself, but when she peers over at Stiles and sees wonderment in his eyes, she can’t help but push a small gasp out from her chest. The whiskey brown eyes that she has become so familiar with swivel over to her; there’s something innocent in them, like he’s seeing the sky for the first time and never realized it could look so infinite. 

 

Lydia closes her eyes, head lolling back onto the pillow, away from him as she enjoys the curves of his fingers stroking her walls, tilting upwards in a way that makes her breath hitch. She’s startled to feel Stiles’ fingers pull out of her and tilt her chin back towards him so that her eyes can meet his. 

 

“I wanna see you,” he explains. “Don’t look away, okay?”   
  
“Okay,” she agrees shakily. 

 

His fingers slip back into her, this time faster, and he adds pressure to her clit, causing her to begin breathing in loud, high pitched breaths that rattle their way into being. For a moment, Stiles’ eyes go still at the sound, registering it, and then he licks his bottom lip and fucks into her harder. 

 

She comes when a long, low noise from Stiles lingers with the breathy ones she’s emitting, her hands grabbing onto the covers and fisting them as her mouth opens and her eyes squeeze shut. When she comes back to their moment, Stiles has his fingers in his mouth and is sucking on them, looking a little shell-shocked. 

 

Then she smiles at him, small but warm, and Stiles lets out a long breath before he rolls on top of her, kissing her tenderly, his body pressed hard against hers. 

 

“That was…” He trails off, then shakes his head as if he’s trying to jostle all of his thoughts in order. “I wanna see it again.” 

 

She makes a sound that probably seems too much like a giggle as Stiles’ hand dives under her skirt again, but Lydia shakes her head, slapping it away. 

 

“I have a better idea,” she says quietly, rolling them over again so that she’s on top of him and Stiles’ back is against the purple pillows on her bed. Lydia moves her hips over his, lightly scraping her nails down his bare chest as she ruts against him, soft gasping noises escaping her lips as the material from his jeans catches on her clit. 

 

She lolls her head back and brings a hand up to squeeze her breast before suddenly remembering that this is Stiles and she gets to watch him come undone underneath her body for the first time. A smirk glides across Lydia’s lips as she refocuses her attention on him, and his eyes widen slightly at the confident expression. 

 

Her hips still as she stoops down to kiss him one more time, and then she begins again with renewed vigor, feeling some sort of wicked delight course through her as he comes in his pants, moaning loudly into the air. She’s been so sensitive all day that it doesn’t take long for her to follow after him, and then she leans over to kiss him, humming against his lips. 

 

“I love you so frigging much,” he says, breathless. “Lydia, I—”    
  
She covers his mouth with her hand, eyes soft. 

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says tenderly. “I know you do.”    
  
“I know, but I just… I’ve never… I wanna say it all the time because…” 

 

Maybe a few years ago, he would have been able to spill all of his emotions out to her and eloquently explain everything he is feeling to her. But they’re different people, and Lydia understands that it’s still so new and sometimes it’s hard. She gets off of his lap and falls onto the bed next to him, snuggling into his side, kissing his neck lightly as he puts his arm behind her and pulls her closer to his bare chest. 

 

“Do you want to watch the second Back To The Future?” she asks knowingly. The tizzy that he’d worked himself into seems to die down, and he nods, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

 

“You might need to put your bra back on,” he suggests, sitting up as she gets up to go grab her laptop. “I’m gonna get distracted.”    
  
Lydia pokes her head back into the room, smiling innocently around the doorway. 

 

“Actually,” she says. “I’m counting on it.” 


End file.
